


Next time, baby

by mssdare



Series: Summer Pornathon 2014 (my entries) [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Suicidal Tendencies, Summer Pornathon 2014, car crash, crash, reckles behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wonders when it happened. At what precise moment did life cease to be enough? When did they come to need <i>this</i>—the speed, the adrenaline, the crash and inevitable pain—to feel <i>something</i>, to feel alive, to wake up their dulled senses from the background of grey porridge, insipid and indifferent?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next time, baby

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for round 7 of Summer Pornathon 2014: THE FIVE SENSES
> 
> Thank you Sillygoose for betaing!
> 
> Warnings: reckless behaviour, car accident, suicidal tendencies, a bit of blood, reference to past injuries
> 
> Inspired by David Cronenberg's "Crash"

For a moment there's total silence, deep and desorienting after the screech of metal when their vehicle collided with the steel barrier, and the thump of impact with the ground. Then there’s the hiss in Arthur's ears, loud and uncomfortable, until it turns into the hammering of his pulse and the frantic in-and-out of his breathing. It's like emerging from ice-cold water: lungs paralyzed at first and then working double-time, painfully so.

Before Arthur even forms the thought "I'm alive" his brain screams, "Merlin!" 

He tries to see through the smoky haze of dusk, crawling slowly to something resembling a body. Merlin’s limbs are spread unnaturally, but not enough to feel like a huge "no."

"Merlin!" Arthur inches closer, clutching his fingers around Merlin's wrist, feeling for the pulse and—thank God.

Arthur swallows but there's nothing to swallow; there’s only a dry lump in his throat and not enough saliva, as if he's dug his way through the dirt with his teeth. It’s painful to breathe but he’s breathing, each inhalation becoming easier as he sees movement in the pale body at his fingertips.

"Merlin."

Merlin grunts and pulls himself up with one hand, then changes his mind halfway and just rolls on his back, arms splayed wide. He reminds Arthur of their car lying now on the edge of the empty road—belly up, exposed and vulnerable, shape all twisted but not completely broken.

Arthur reaches out, touching Merlin's cheek, letting his hand slip lower to Merlin's neck to feel his heartbeat, to count out the rhythm and assess the damage. Fast, but steady. Good.

He wonders when it happened. At what precise moment did life cease to be enough? When did they come to need _this_ —the speed, the adrenaline, the crash and inevitable pain—to feel _something_ , to feel alive, to wake up their dulled senses from the background of grey porridge, insipid and indifferent?

There's blood on Merlin's mouth where his upper lip has split, and Arthur tries to wipe it with his thumb, smearing it more than cleaning it before he leans down, tracing the gash with his tongue. He pushes his leg in between Merlin's thighs and grinds down, where he knows Merlin will be hard already.

Merlin whimpers, and it might be from pain because his leg isn't quite right, won't ever be, just like Arthur's jaw and arm—too many stitches in the scarred flesh and titanium nails in the broken bones—but Merlin's already pulling Arthur closer, thrusting up, up, up.

The mud underneath their bodies is slippery, making Arthur's hands slide as he gets tangled in the mess of clothes, fingers still a bit too stiff to work properly as he pulls their jeans down, wishing he could just rip the fabric.

Letting his head fall back, exposing his throat, Merlin sighs, surrendering to Arthur. Their cocks are joined together in Arthur's fist, muddy and too tight, but it feels too good for them to care. It's one, two strokes, and again, with Arthur's hips pushing and Merlin thrusting back. But as he breathes into Merlin's mouth, tasting the blood, it's perfect. Nothing else matters. Just this moment, when he feels alive and he has Merlin underneath his body, writhing until he's coming, silent and tense, as he always does.

Only then, with Arthur's hands all wet and slippery with Merlin's seed, does Arthur come too, squeezing his eyes against the wave of pleasure that hits him. He collapses, trying to put at least some of his weight to the side of Merlin instead of on top of him; he’s still unsure if they're both in one piece: no broken limbs, no internal bleeding. There’s the pain in his ribs, and Merlin’s hitching breath, but they’re alive. This time.

He feels Merlin's slender frame shaking in his arms, and wet, warm liquid on his neck where Merlin's face is buried. Merlin sobs just like he comes, quiet and tense. Arthur isn’t sure if it’s relief they’ve made it again, or despair that they’ll chase this feeling once more until there are no more chances. Probably the latter. It makes Arthur's heart feel bruised.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispers into Merlin's ear, kissing the damp skin there. 

Sirens are blaring in the distance, getting closer. They’ll have to get out of here, but for a moment Arthur can relish this delicate peace. He strokes Merlin's hair and rocks him gently. "Maybe next time, baby. Maybe next time."


End file.
